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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724653">Shadows of Jupiter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But they’re not the focus dw, Canon-Typical Violence, Deep Stone Crypt, Gen, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Multi, Nightmares, On Europa, Probably will be disproven after beyond light but whatever, Slow Burn, The Taken - Freeform, long work, post-Shadowkeep, tags will be added later, the fallen - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:28:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the frost-crusted surface of a moon millions of miles away from the Sun, something moves. It does not breathe. It does not see. It does not feel. A hand reaches through the stars and grasps it with the touch a mother would give, and it awakes. All of it awakes.</p><p>(Updates Fridays)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cayde-6/Eris Morn, Eris Morn/Ikora Rey, Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny), The Drifter/Eris Morn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Log 0A</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky was eerily quiet around the Tower. It had been for a few days. There wasn’t a real reason as to why, something had just...changed. Clouds hung unmoving and, other than the last remnants of smoke billowing from the Almighty, white. Anyone looking could see clearly for tens of miles out, over the hills and across the City. Sunlight sparkled off the rivers and mountains on the horizon as bright as the lanterns and lights of the City itself. </p><p>A tall warlock rushed through the courtyard. He was imposing, dressed in all black. An X-shaped brooch made of gold was fastened onto his breast, a strangely elegant detail on his tactical coat. The heels of his boots clicked as he bounded down a set of stairs with a rushed grace, almost shoving some stray hunters out of the way. His cyan optics were set directly forward, as dark as his frame. Emerging from</p><p>the fairy-lit tunnel to the bazaar, the sun shone brightly on his blue faceplate as he turned sternly towards Ikora Rey. She caught his stare, of course, as she briefly shooed some kingerguardians away. She met the warlock in a small hideaway by the ramen shop, away from prying eyes. </p><p>“Travis-5. What has brought you here with such urgency?” </p><p>He glanced towards the opening of the small dead end they were hiding in.  </p><p>“New developments on Europa,” he said with a dull, dark voice. “This is something you’re going to want to see.”</p><p>The astute Vanguard’s face dropped, her brows knitted together. She paced for a moment, her fingers meeting her chin in introspection. Silence reverberated around them as the gears of her mind clicked into place. </p><p>“The Pyramids?” She asked herself, shaking her head for a moment, her eyes meeting Travis’. “What have they done?”</p><p>“It’s not what they have done,” he replied. His voice was cold and shadowed. If Ikora hadn’t known him, she would have called it venomous. “It’s what they <em> can </em> do.”</p><p>Ikora swallowed thickly, folding her hands behind her back as she shifted on her feet. She rolled her head for a moment and sighed, looking past the Hidden in front of her. When her gaze finally found focus again, her eyes were changed. Hazed and lost, while every muscle in her body was tense from anxiety and anticipation. </p><p>“Show me what you must.”</p><p>Travis nodded and quietly motioned for Ikora to follow. She was in-line with him as they walked. She knew where he was taking her, but still felt unsure of herself. She had survived so much, even her Light being taken away, but for some reason, this scared her so much more than the Red War ever did. She couldn’t help but feel fear radiate from Travis’ stoic frame. His gait was quick and uneven and his eyes trailed. He even paused before entering the Black Quarters deep in the underbelly of the Annex. Like any member of the Hidden, he’d done this time and time again, yet his hand hovered over the keypad. Ikora swore she could see his gloved fingers trembling. When he finally tapped in the door’s code, he let out a heavy, metallic sigh. </p><p>“This...is what you wanted to show me?” Ikora spoke, her voice biting. </p><p>In the center of the main room stood two Guardians — both Hunters — and an exo. His metal exoskeleton was a sickly monochrome, black and white tainted green, and he wore a tight, scaled, black jumpsuit that shone under the stale lights of the lounge. His eyes are what perplexed Ikora. They were whiter than anything she had ever seen, and yet, they shifted with color. He stood rigidly, hands bound behind his back as one of the Hunters held a sidearm forcefully to his spine. All of them were surrounded by the oppressively clean room, choking out anything anyone thought or said. Ikora turned back to Travis with a dull glare. </p><p>“This is just an exo, Travis,” she began. “What is he doing in the Black Quarters? You know this violates—”</p><p>A shock rippled through the room when metal clattered against the floor. When Ikora turned back towards the Exo, his hand was outstretched and flat, the Hunters behind him too startled to restrain him. Her eyes darted from the cuffs by his feet and back to his hand. </p><p>“Ikora Rey. A pleasure to meet you, at last.”</p><p>If exos could smile, this one would have a wicked grin. </p><p>Ikora stepped forward for a moment, her hand moving close to her chest, as she studied the Exo’s fingers. Trails of black, frothy mist wove from them, curling in the air. She blinked a few times, making sure the lights weren’t playing any tricks on her. When she looked up, the Exo had his optics locked directly on her. </p><p>“You’re...he’s…” she mouthed, words barely escaping her tightening lungs. </p><p>“My name is the Blind,” the exo continued. He remained deathly still, sound seeming to reflect off his form. The blackness of his body and the room sucked any light out of Ikora’s eyes and fingers. </p><p>“Ikora,” Travis’ voice rang against her ears. She turned back to look up at him with wide, almost panicked, eyes. </p><p>“He is Taken.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Log 0B</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Ka-chink.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Another jade coin barely found its way into a metallic Fallen helmet, lost instantly among the piles of green that had accumulated on the table and grated floor. The Annex had been eerie and quiet for the past couple days, with the only sounds ringing in the Drifter’s small hideaway being that of the bank behind him and the recaster and decoder by his side. Every so often a Gambit regular would swing by with an armful of engrams and some chitter chatter, but it was quiet nonetheless. When Eris suddenly spoke to him over the comms, he jolted, pulling another coin he was holding onto his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strange things ebb with the tide of the Darkness, Drifter,” she keened, static frying her voice just slightly. “Do you have your eyes open?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Moondust,” the Drifter snorted</span>
</p><p>
  <span>back, “Give a guy a little warnin’ first, will ya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without skipping a beat, Eris continued on. Her voice was haunting and long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you taken heed of where the Guardians have been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Drifter leaned his elbows over the rain, his hips tilted. Eris obviously couldn’t see him tap his chin, but he did so animatedly, a small </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmmm</span>
  </em>
  <span> drawing over his lips just loud enough for the comms to pick it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see...</span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The Annex has been empty all week. No word from the Vanguard, no nothin’. The Hero hasn’t even showed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spit at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hero</span>
  </em>
  <span>...has not been heard from in weeks. Not a soul is privy to their location.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why should I care where the Snitch is? They don’t matter to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ka-Chink. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A coin thrown in anger clattered on the ground sourly. As the Drifter reached down to retrieve the small green mint, it slipped between the grates of his small stage. He sucked in a breath as he heard it bounce off of various lengths of tubing and metal. He wasn’t getting that jade back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Their evanescence is but one scene is a larger play, rat,” Eris bayed softly in the Drifter’s ear. “Perhaps you are waiting in the wings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather not be, thanks,” he languidly hissed and turned off his comms for the day. He instinctively brought a gloved hand to the pendant around his neck and rubbed it for a moment as he walked to the door of his garage, slamming it closed with a loud clatter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghost,” he announced to the air as he flicked off light switches in the back of the room. “Bring me up.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The Drifter reappeared in the Derelict, his boots imprinting on the snowy floor. His Ghost watched him with a single, red eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ỳ̶̢̲̤́̕o̴̲͈͍̙̊͘ū̵̡̲̯ ̶̢̢͔̥̔͗̌a̵̫̚r̶̲̰͇̙̋̏͠ē̴͚̽ ̶̗̹̅̓̿u̷͎͙̘̼͝p̶̥̪̯̻͆s̸̻̫̳̍̿̐é̵̛̪̹̉ṯ̸̫͆,” it observed, its corroded voice echoing off the sides of the ship. It could not speak, but somehow, the Drifter knew what it was saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know you ain’t blind,” the Drifter growled, stomping his way through the main room of the hauler and into his quarters, snow-filled and icy. He made sure his door locked behind him, but Ghost followed him into his lodging anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was dark and warm-colored, but not like the color of candlelight or intimacy. It was red with shades of blood, tricking down the corners and walls, glowing. Small spikes of frost and some kind of long-decayed biology nestled where the floor met the walls. Amongst them were various trinkets, parts, weapons, and coins the Drifter had left laying about. Along a shelf under a glass pane on the wall left and adjacent to the door, plants in various stages of death were buried in a variety of containers, such glass bottles, ceramic vases, and Cabal helmets. Beneath the shelving was a dresser, made of real Terran wood. It must have been at least a few hundreds years old, but it was in pristine condition, apart from the rusted brass handles. One of the smaller, top drawers was opened and filled with dirt and a variety of plants that should have been long dead. Strewn on top of the dresser (and all around the room) were old clothes and armor, collecting dust and growing wrinkled. The Drifter sat down on his bed, which was just a mattress utop a metal frame, and put his head in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ê̷̜̫̈͜r̶̼͍̾ì̴̯̯͒̔s̷̡̨̨̽̈́̾ ̸͓͜͠ì̴̘̖̪s̴̠̀̓͒ ̶̙̘̼̃̈͘ŗ̶̨͇̿̈́͘ỉ̴̼̮̇g̴̻̘̱̈́͋ḫ̶͐̍t,” the Ghost whirred, transmitting across the room. Clicks and auditory buzzes filled the Drifter’s ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were listening in?” The Drifter snapped. “Damnit, Ghost, this is why I don’t trust you. And you know my closed-door policy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Ghost hummed in its shell, rotating rigidly, like gears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ŷ̵̛͈́ò̷̲͕̬ų̶̛̙͎̇̕ ̶͍̇c̸̲͍̯̔a̷̘̦̤̐n̸̛͎͋͜n̸̯̩̩̑̚ó̶̠͂̇t̴̯͖͑́ ̴̝̃r̸͕̐͒͘u̸͔̤̇̀̃n̴̺̦̔͋̀ ̵̳̚f̵̡͋r̶̺̫̜̈͝ȍ̸ͅḿ̸̭͚̉͆ ̷̜͑̏t̵̘͚̄h̸̗͒i̴̬͑ś̸͓̊͝.̸͚̬̊͗ ̶̡̰͋,” Ghost continued. Even though it spoke not, its tone war concerned. “N̸̡͈͍͑̑̑o̷͔̗̓t̷͓̓̍ ̵̬͍͆͊͛ȃ̵̛̯͝ģ̵̬́̓̌a̴͔̽̂̄ḯ̴̡̙̬͋n̷͖͚̜̕͝.̷̪̅.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A piece of scrap metal chucked through the air narrowly missed Ghost. Narrowly - but it missed nonetheless. The Drifter stood over his dresser. Just below where his knuckles were turning white against the wood, his plants silently sat. He bit into his lip with force, and for the first time in a long time, he bled. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Log 1 - Ghoul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The woods were wet and cried softly as a black Sparrow wove through the trees. Rain slickened it, creating watery waves along its metallic chassis. It roared loudly, billowing up leaves and dust. The rider, dressed in black and brown furs, revved the engine, narrowly leaning away from obstructions and rocks. As the Sparrow continued on, the rider moved their hands from the handles, bracing the machine between their thighs. They fiddled with a small gun they pulled from the inside of their thick coat, checking the bullets and making sure it was loaded. When they were satisfied, they replaced their weapon and placed their gloved palms back on the Sparrow, just in time to swerve out of the way of a particularly large tree. After a long ride of close calls and sore legs, the Sparrow finally stopped in a small refugee village, putting up their hood and zipping up their coat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The village was inconspicuous, hidden amongst trodden paths and crumbling Golden Age ruins. Tarps of leather and fabric were hung between brick and wooden buildings in the midst of being restored by their inhabitants. A few men walked past with a fallen deer hung by its hooves between them, its hide pristine apart from one dark hole in its left breast. Children pranced among working adults making trades and crafting items. The rider passed through them with some suspicion, their boots making thick tracks in the mud. The fur on their hood billowed softly in the breeze as they descended deeper into the village.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rider turned sharply towards one of the most intact buildings. Along its front, a slew of dark persian rugs covered the outside of the ancient structure and fairy lights hung around the fabric facade’s openings. The building even had a door - a stately, wooden thing decorated with omolon tech and vines. A guard was stationed by the building as well, but he was sleeping soundly against a crate, cradling his rifle in his arms while he slept. The rider walked past him and knocked firmly on the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman, dressed in black robes from head to toe, opened the door to the rider. She looked up at them with a single, flickering, blue eye. It’s strange, oversized shape was the only thing the rider could see, for her face was shadowed by a dark hood and covered from her nose down by a mechanical mask. She stared harshly at the rider, holding the door tightly in her fist before stepping aside to let them in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The interior of the building was strangely barren. There was no furniture, and the rider was fascinated by the lack that seemed to encompass the entire structure. Icy, blue lights hung dormantly in the creases between ceiling and wall. The ancient mudroom was probably the most decorated place in the entire building, as weapon crates were stacked along the edges of the room and on the wooden steps leading upward. The woman began to walk up the creaking ascent, and the rider took it as a sign to follow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Upstairs was somehow even darker than the floor below. It was one room, lit by more tube lights and cold-burning candles. Plants hung down from the worn ceiling beams and more dark rugs and fabrics lined the entire interior of the space. On the far side of the room, they were piled more heavily. A woman sat, cross-legged, and hovered. Her back was turned away from the ridger and the robed woman. Void light streamed around her form, crackling and popping about her fingers. Once she felt the rider enter, she removed her hood, revealing a strange, flowing length of wires sprouting from her head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What brings you to this place?” She asked. Her voice was low and dark as she moved her hands to rest on her knees. The rider took a step forward while the woman he walked with stayed at the stairway, standing straight with her hands folded behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dredgen Kaira,” the rider began. Their voice was distorted and pitched down, obviously altered by the mask they wore. “I was surprised to hear you were still alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” she continued, turning her head slightly. Her eyes shone bright white, crisp against the noise of the room. “She is dead. Only Náæta lives now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sheesh, do you pick that one yourself?” The rider scoffed quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Náæta slowly let her feet come unfolded, touching the cushions and fabrics beneath her daintily before setting her full weight on them. She turned to face the rider and folded her hands in front of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Náæta was tall and slim, especially for an exo, and her robes hung about her like curtains  hung about windows. She lacked a traditional Bond, but instead had several pieces of fabric tied around her bicep, each holding a small talisman to her arm. The rider counted signifiers of every enemy of humanity in the system, even that of the Scorn. Odder yet was the drape of black fabric which was fashioned onto her skull, covering her left eye. In fact, it was not an Exo’s optic which shone out under the thin fabric, but the fuzzy form of a blue Ghost eye. It moved in perfect sync with her right eye, as if it was natural. Náæta took one step towards the rider before she stood ghoulishly still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What has brought you here?” She asked, her voice still low. “Your presence endangers me” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rider shook their head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want you to tell me what you know about the Young Wolf,” the rider continued firmly. Náæta’s Ghost eye flickered, as if she was blinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They went looking for answers in dark places.” Náæta said bitterly. “The Deep Stone Crypt. I have not been there since I left the Shadows. It is a desolate place, devoid of life.” She paused for a moment, thinking, but not moving. “Only emptiness remains there. I know not what the Wolf wishes to find there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that’s where they are? Is your fucked up Ghost still there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do not speak of him in such grotesque ways.” Náæta spat at the rider. “His martyrdom was not his own. But yes, his shell remains there. But it is dark. It has been so since the Red War. I can no longer see through what is left of him. I have...other ways of discerning the Wolf’s whereabouts, but they are kept in confidence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rider cursed under their breath, their hand clenching into a tight fist for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know of the disturbance?” Náæta suddenly continued. “We all feel it: some of us stronger than most.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rider’s escort looked up and shivered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your questions will die in the Crypt. Not a soul leaves that place sane. Tycho was with me when I entered it, but she left when I departed. Luck will not be so kind to the Wolf, and she will be even harsher with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence which filled the room was sickening and cold. The rider could have doubled over dead right then and there if they didn’t know better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you wish to enter it,” Náæta continued with a sigh. “And I cannot stop you, whatever your reasoning might be. So I bestow upon you an offering.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The exo walked forth, her hands beginning to cusp around her fabric veil. A small whistle of shifting metal sounded, and in Náæta’s hands sat the eye of a dead Ghost. Broken wires snaked away from the lens and without being connected to Náæta’s circuitry, it was dark. She approached the rider and gestured. Pensively, the rider took the eye from Náæta and held it gingerly, their reflection staring back at them on the dark glass. Before the rider could move away, Náæta covered their hands with her own and leaned in close. Her faceplate almost grazed the rider’s cheek and they could feel her synthetic breath against them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Before you go,” she whispered softly. “Please tell Eris I say hello.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” the Drifter sighed. He sat at his workstation in the Derelict, his head between hands. On the table next to him, a Ghost eye was collecting frost. “Next time you pull a stunt like that, Eris, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> going into the field.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Drifter’s voice echoed against his ship and he clawed at his hair, noises of distaste gargling up from his throat. He could feel his Ghost watching him from afar. He threw a jade coin in its direction angrily, fizzling in solar light as it bounced off the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your prior connections to Náæta places you in better standing with her than I,” Eris echoed over the comms. “She would have turned me away on her doorstep had I been the one to approach.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” the Drifter huffed, leaning backwards and throwing his head up as he rubbed his neck. “But can’t you get another little Guardian friend of yours to do that sort of</span>
</p><p>
  <span>shit? I’m not your damn errand boy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Eris replied coolly and quietly. “Outsiders cannot be trusted. Vanguard involvement could jeopardize this investigation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says Ikora’s plaything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eris took a deep, sharp breath in. The Drifter heard it, even over the comms, and stilled. Even his Ghost, all the way across the room, waited in nervous expectancy for Eris’ response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ikora is a dear...friend, Drifter,” she continued. “She holds a special seat in my heart. She means the best, but the Warlock Vanguard has institutions and loyalties she must answer to. What we have discovered is an Ephialtes which cares not for personal bonds.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Drifter pulled another coin, seemingly out of thin air, and chucked it across his room. It clattered and bounced off the icy wall, echoing loudly throughout the space before settling on the floor. Stillness filled the Drifter’s ears, soaking into him like a sponge in water. Static from the comms faded into white noise, only disturbed by Eris’ voice slicing through the sound. The Drifter flinched slightly at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you are afraid, Drifter,” she started. Her voice was low and warm, different from the despondent sameness she previously spoke with. “I do not blame you for that. But I ask you, do not run. Please. If not for the benefit of humanity and the Light then...then for me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Drifter blinked at Eris’ plea. This was one of those rare times that he wished he saw her face to face so that he could try and figure out what she was really asking, if she really meant it with that much sincerity and wasn’t just using him. His hand found its way to the jade fastened around his neck, his thumb feeling over the textured scales of the dual snakes. After a moment, he gripped it in his palm gently, pressing the green to his skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he finally sighed out after an eternity. “I’ll stay put. For you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to this long and wild ride! Updates will be every friday (hopefully fairly consistently). Be prepared - this one is gonna be a really, REALLT long one  </p><p>I’ll try my best to stay with the lore :0</p><p>ALSO - some early chapters may be rewritten after Beyond Light comes out. I’ll mark dates if that happens.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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